Orphans & Inmates: An Orphan's Perspective

Inmates scattered all over Oregon have sponsored Otino Waa kids for years.  Visions of Hope, the inmate art project, demonstrates an even deeper level of passion, as art is created to support even more kids.  If you were to ask the kids what this means to them, what would they say?

Inmates have been sponsoring Otino Waa children since about 2004.  Currently there are 22 who support one or more of our kids.  In 2009 a new and unique project was birthed to create a fundraiser with art directly from the prisoners.  To date 345 pieces have been included in the Visions of Hope project.  Various events and promotions have generated over $26,000.  The unique and one-of-a-kind endeavor has connected the inmates to the orphans in a very special way.

Recently, a short term team went to Otino Waa, in northern Uganda.  One of the many projects included interviews with the kids to see what their reaction might be to the efforts of these men in prison.  The inmates have seen this, amid tears and applause.  

Hope lives in Otino Waa AND in prison.

 Click HERE to play video.

What part do you play? 

Want to encourage an orphan?  Sponsor a child!

Want to encourage an inmate?  Provide funds for art supplies!

The Day My Mom Went Crazy

The Day My Mom Went Crazy
(Originally from John UpChurch, Senior Editor of BibleStudyTools.com)
I don’t remember the day of the week—so, let’s say Wednesday. I’d just returned from work and was making the walk from the parking lot to my apartment.

Before I could get to the door, the call came. My cell phone cracked and spluttered as my brother spoke on the other end. His words tumbled into the hundreds of miles between us. But I understood enough. My mother had stopped her meds again; she’d lied about it; and now she didn’t know her youngest son existed. My family wanted me to talk to her to prove I was, in fact, real. The idea sickened me, but I didn’t have time to object before the phone went to her. Really, it took that long for me to recover.

They didn’t tell her who I was, just that someone wanted to talk to her. My mind whirled around a prayer—a very inadequate bottle rocket—as I waited through the rustling and murmurs and silence. Mostly, I just hoped she wouldn’t take the phone.

She did.

If you’ve never been told you don’t exist, it’s not something I recommend. You hurt for the person who doesn’t want to remember, and you hurt for the lost connection. But that’s what happened when I said hello and told her who I was. She screamed into the phone that I had died as a baby, that I didn’t really exist, and that I was lying to her. The whole moment will never really fade away.
When I visited my mom later in the hospital, a shell sat across the table from me. Her eyes dulled under the fluorescence. There was no recognition, no love in the hazel. She only resembled the woman who’d once wept when I moved out.
Loving her then gave me the smallest glimpse of what it was like for God to love me—even when I ran away, even when I denied He existed. I couldn’t see back then. My eyes couldn’t recognize His goodness because I convinced myself that the lies of this world are more satisfying. I denied Him and raged against Him in turn. I hated that He loved me.
Slowly, over months, my mother began to remember. She got back the names and faces that had vanished from her mind. She saw us again.
And how slow my own journey has been. First, I came face to face with a very real Maker of the universe. Then, I fell down before His ridiculous love for me. Since then, I’ve been slowly regaining my sight, seeing the world through His eyes. I once blinded myself, but now I’ve been granted new eyes. I couldn’t see until God’s preceding grace tore away the haze, and, suddenly, I remembered what love is.

The whole situation hit me with the truth of what John 3:16 really means. God longs for us to recognize His love. But we have selective amnesia; we forget the one who created us.
Even that doesn’t stop Him, though. He pursues us in Christ Jesus, who went through the pain of being rejected to heal our forgetful hearts. Nothing could stop him from that.

Ivan

Ivan was born on 10/2/2000.  He speaks Luo and English and has one sibling.

Little is known about Ivan’s past. He was born as a result of rape. His mom, Florence, was attending a secondary boarding school in 1999. One night the LRA rebels raided the village and school sending the students fleeing for their lives. As Florence was hiding she was found by a boy she knew from school.  They hid for days to avoid the rebels, but somehow she placed too much trust in him and was raped. Shortly thereafter the boy was killed as he ran from the rebels.

In 2002 Ivan’s mom gave birth to a girl. Shortly thereafter the mom and baby disappeared. Ivan has not seen them since.

Ivan went to live with a grandfather in 2003 and stayed with him for many years. It was here he learned how to build homes as the grandfather was a skilled carpenter.

 In 2007 the grandfather became ill with TB and quickly lost health. Ivan became full time caregiver as well as the only support for the two of them. In 2008 Ivan was interviewed to be admitted to Otino Waa, but was put on a waiting list of over 500. He had almost lost hope of living there, but in 2010 he was admitted.

Ivan loves his new life at Otino Waa. He seldom attended school in his younger years and has many grade levels to catch up to. He continues to want to be a builder.

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